Not enough Japanese devils to kill? 1.4 billion people volunteer for the Battle of Shanghai.

Inside the chemical engineering building.

The lobby on the first floor is a huge open workshop with a ceiling height of six or seven meters. An abandoned reactor lies in the middle, rusted beyond recognition, like the abdominal cavity of a dead behemoth.

Pipes crisscrossed overhead, some thick, some thin, some broken in half, the ends jagged. Moonlight streamed in through the broken skylight, cutting pale streaks of light across the ground.

The air was filled with the smell of stale chemicals, mixed with the smell of rust and gunpowder.

Lieutenant Ma was pressed against the back of the reactor, panting heavily.

There were only three people left with him.

Xiao He, twenty years old, had been in the army for a year and a half and was the youngest in his squad. Mud clung to his face, sweat washing away the streaks that revealed skin tanned red by gunpowder. His hand gripping the gun trembled, but the muzzle remained pointed towards the stairs.

Afang, twenty years old, a demolition expert. He unloaded the simulated explosive charge from his back and checked the fuse. His fingers were steady, his movements were light, as if he were disassembling a precision instrument.

Old Ge, twenty-eight years old, was the oldest soldier in the squad. He crouched on the outermost edge, his gun barrel sweeping across the second-floor corridor. There was a white mark on his left arm—he had been shot in the left arm, which was now hanging limply and unusable. He held the gun with his right hand, the butt resting on his right shoulder, his right eye pressed against the scope.

Lieutenant Ma lowered his voice: "Target, the gun on the top floor. Route—"

"Use ventilation ducts."

Suddenly, a voice came from behind.

Lieutenant Ma suddenly turned around, his gun barrel pointing at the same time.

three people.

Emerging from the shadows on the other side.

The person walking at the very front had a white mark on his right chest. It wasn't a vital spot, but it was very close to one.

He didn't stop after being hit; he staggered all the way here.

Two men followed behind him. One had lost his helmet at some point, and his short hair was soaked with sweat and plastered to his forehead. The other had a bandage on his left leg and walked with a slight limp, but each step was firm and steady.

Lieutenant Ma recognized them.

It's not that I recognize their faces, but that I recognize the numbers on their training uniforms.

The remnants of another squad. Their leader was the same man who had shouted at him from the open field.

The soldier who had been shot in the chest took a step forward.

His face was young, looking no more than twenty-five. There was a scrape on his cheek, the blood had dried and formed a dark red scab. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against a wooden board.

"Our captain said he wants you to take down that cannon for him."

He paused for a moment.

"He's not coming back."

"Captain, he took the bullet for us."

"Now, we've come in his place."

Lieutenant Ma looked at the white mark on his chest, then at the two men behind him.

One person from the west, a depleted team.

Three people, and another depleted team.

There are seven people in total, not enough to form a full squad.

Lieutenant Ma put down his gun.

"I will definitely do what I promised him."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the empty workshop, every word was clear.

"I will definitely take down that cannon on the rooftop."

The soldier, shot in the chest, looked at him.

Then he took a step forward and stood at attention.

The two people behind him stood at attention at the same time.

"I will follow you to the death."

Lieutenant Ma looked at the three men for three seconds.

Then he reached out his hand.

The soldier, who had been shot in the chest, grasped it.

Two hands clasped together, both hands were black, covered in mud, sweat, and white powder.

"My name is Ma Yan."

"Chen Du".

"Seven people." Ma Yansong released his grip and looked towards the stairs. "That's enough."

Seven people huddled together in the shadow of the reactor.

Ma Yan drew lines on the ground with his finger. His finger traced the dust on the cement, leaving white streaks.

"From the first floor to the west wing, take the stairs. Above the west wing, the stairs are guarded; use the ventilation ducts. The duct exit is on the seventh floor. From the seventh floor to the eighth floor—"

He raised his head.

"Force it."

Nobody asked, "Can we charge up there?"

Nobody said, "There are only seven of us."

Further away from the chemical building, the moonlight cast twenty moving shadows.

Lei Xiong crouched behind a concrete pillar, taking in the entire front of the chemical building. The white dust on the open ground hadn't yet settled, and the moonlight shone on it, making it look like a thin layer of mist.

He saw those who had been eliminated, lying motionless on the ground.

He saw the drag marks on the open ground. The gravel had been plowed into furrows by the body, and the furrows were mixed with white powder.

He saw the seven disappearing figures at the foot of the chemical building wall.

Lei Xiong withdrew his gaze and lowered his voice.

"There are already people in the building."

Lin Yun squatted down next to him and used the tip of his dagger to draw a floor plan of the chemical building on the ground.

She had just observed the outline of the building by the moonlight and, combined with the position of the muzzle flash, had marked the firing points.

"Second floor, three heavy machine guns. Third floor, two. West building, at least one sniper position. Top floor, one cannon."

She would tap the ground with her dagger every time she mentioned a location.

"The one charging head-on is the decoy."

Jiang Xingchen squatted on the far side and twirled the compass in his hand.

"It's not bait."

Everyone looked at him.

He pushed up his sunglasses.

"They are the ones who cleared the way."

He put away his compass and looked towards the chemical engineering building.

"They've scouted out all the firing positions. Which window has a machine gun behind it, which floor has a sniper, what the field of fire of that cannon is—"

He paused.

"They all risked their lives to find out."

Those lying on the open ground, those being dragged back, those covered in white powder.

They weren't eliminated.

They put up road signs.

The twenty people were silent for two seconds.

Then Lei Xiong stood up.

"Then we can't let them 'die' in vain."

We wholeheartedly recommend this book to you: "Not Enough Japanese Soldiers to Kill? 1.4 Billion People Volunteer for the Battle of Shanghai," available here.